It was all madness, obviously. Once he had her and had slaked his desire, he would revolt from an alliance that could only be a degradation in his world.
Not that she wanted to marryhim. In her world, with the Mappertons, with Eloisa, where conduct was more important than rank, it would be a degradation forherto accept such an unequal alliance. His infamous treatment of her was not changed by his earlier revelation.
No, it was just his desire that made him talk of marriage.
But her desire was strong, too. She studied his face. That kiss last night, on the balcony, ithadbeen remarkable. He was right about that.
And the thought of returning to France to accept Mr. Laurent, without another adventure, without ever kissing Augustus Carrington again, depressed her beyond measure. Couldn’t it be seen as a triumph, rather than an affront to her pride, to make him her lover again? To have him begging for her favors? And wasn’t that the exact point of this makeshift courtship? To have him beg for it? The world could think what it might, it could hear that he was spending time with her, and then when nothing came of it, they would forget.
Thetonwas not her problem, anyway.
She would be back in France, comfortable and prosperous, as Madame Laurent.
Her association with Lord Montaigne would help Natasha, too. It was tactical, hardly even selfish, from that angle.
She closed her eyes, unable to believe that she was really taking this step.
“I accept.”
When she opened her eyes, he was beaming.
“We can try it. The courtship.”
They sat there for a second, just looking at one another. She hadn’t intended it, but her assent seemed to have thawed the air between them. She felt heat rise in her cheeks…and in other places on her body.
“Thank you,” he said, surprising her once more, breaking eye contact.
He rose and so did she. And then the Earl of Montaigne took her hand in his own, kissed it, the ardor in his expression enough to set their neat, genteel little drawing room aflame.
Then he left.
As if he hadn’t just blown her world apart.
Chapter Thirteen
Augustus—
I fear what you must think of me. I understand that, given my behavior, our—correspondence is surely at an end.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
If you think that, after last night,Idesire an end to our relationship, then you are very mistaken. While I did not expect such favors, I would never suggest that their granting is shameful. Not when they have brought me more pleasure than I know how to articulate.
And after all, what have we done that many a young couple hasn’t? Surely, even Mrs. Phelps in her day allowed such liberties with the future Mr. Phelps. I would hope so, at least, for his sake. I have never passed an evening in a more enjoyable fashion. In fact, I am fairly certain I could die happy kissing you in any alleyway in London, but especially that one, which will now always carry a pleasant association for me, despite the truly startling abundance of rotting barrels and stray cats.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
You are used to fine ladies, who do not allow the things that I permitted. I cannot stand for you think of me as common, which, of course, you already must.
Olivia
